


E Minus Too Few Hours

by xenokattz



Series: 34 [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:03:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenokattz/pseuds/xenokattz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is a stupid plan," said Maria.</p>
<p>"What? No! It's a brilliant plan." Steve grinned into her hair. "We came up with it together. It's as good as it's gonna get."</p>
            </blockquote>





	E Minus Too Few Hours

With just enough time to nap before the mission, Maria slipped into the cot beside him. Steve jerked his arms out from under his head, his eyes going from half-mast to full alert. She paused, her knee dipping the mattress. He wriggled to one side to make room on her preferred side of the bed. She didn't lie down right away. Steve visualised an old fashioned balance scale in her head, made of stainless steel and chrome-moly alloy, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. He held his breath until the pans tipped in his favour.

She didn't take her boots off, still on duty. He had his on as well. He waited for her to slide her firearm under the cot, close enough to grab as needed, before she tucked herself under his arm, side-lying, trusting her back to him. With a wall at his left, Steve felt comfortable enough to curl around her. He held her hand where it rested near her stomach. Maria always had cool hands. He rubbed warmth into her palms, working at the calluses and scars until her breathing slowed.

"Fury's at the radios," she said.

"If we get any more help between now and go-time, they're more than welcome. But we can't change the timeline."

"This is a stupid plan."

"What? No! It's a brilliant plan." Steve grinned into her hair. "We came up with it together. It's as good as it's gonna get."

"That's not saying much," said Maria. "Two field operatives against three helicarriers--"

"Not just two. You're taking lead. Widow and Fury will take point. And anyone who's loyal to SHIELD's original mandate will help."

"SHIELD's original mandate included HYDRA plants."

He squeezed her hand. "Not your SHIELD. Not Howard, Peggy, and Gabe's SHIELD."

She slid their hands, fingers tangled, under her shirt to rest on her belly. Steve knew if he moved his thumb half an inch down, he'd touch scar tissue from the bullets that nearly ended Maria's military career. Two inches up was the edge of a knife slash, perceptible only at a certain angle if the light struck it the right way.

"Worst case scenario, I'll have to make the helicarriers crash into each other regardless of who's still on board," Maria said, her tone low but each consonant enunciated.

"Worst case scenario, we can't stop the helicarriers at all and you'll have to trigger anti-aircraft missiles against it," Steve countered.

"We might still have a couple of Stark's Jerichos."

He made a face.

"Of course, we'll have to completely take over the Triskelion's command centre to launch them which is another mission entirely." She rested her other hand on top of her stomach so his fingers were sandwiched between hers. "We need more operatives."

He kissed her ear. "It'll be fine. We'll complete the mission. We have to."

Maria pulled his hand higher, under her bra. Her nipple hardened where it rested at the centre of his palm. He stroked her the way she liked, feather-light on the underside of her breast, just a bit more pressure circling her areola then ghosting again across her nipple. She hummed and stretched then her spine curled, relaxed, almost as if she could melt into him. Steve wasn't attached to twenty-first century comforts-- heck, he'd barely experienced early twentieth century comforts-- but he wished they were back at her place right now, in her bedroom with soundproofed walls and a solid door, far away from three other operatives with great hearing and reflexes set to blow. 

"Your mid-century steroid cocktail will do squat with decapitation or the crushing injuries from an airship landing on your chest," said Maria. She shuffled closer to him so her rear pressed against his groin.

"Then I guess I'll have to duck real fast."

He nudged at her legs and she slid the top one down to make room for his. He couldn't feel the heat or wetness between her thighs, not through layers of linen, Kevlar and leather, but he knew how far to rub his knee up by the clench and relaxation of her muscles and the way she swung one arm over her head so she could grab at his hair. He ducked under her elbow to nuzzle the spot where her neck and shoulder met. He had a bit of a shadow on his jaw, enough to draw goosebumps on her arms when his whiskers rubbed that bit of soft skin. She petted him, stroked his nape and ran her fingers through his hair, with a gentleness that belied the sharp angles of her body and the fierceness in her demeanour. She looked like an Art Deco statue when she was like this, the geometry of her body outlining not only strength but elegance. Maria was a study of minute contrasts which Steve hoped to God-- if He still existed in these modern times-- he'd have more time to learn.

Steve pressed his knee up a little higher, rubbing a little harder, all the while continuing the soft massage of Maria's breast. She bit the fleshy base of her thumb to muffle her groan. She rocked against him, impatient. His suit was too tight, didn't give him the right friction for this kind of thing, but he slid in closer anyway to press himself as close as possible to her bottom as she moved. Her body arched, every muscle now tensed, and Steve was reminded of his shield, how its curve lent it strength.

Maria made a sound of disapproval. In four seconds flat, she had one leg out of her pants and made motions at his. He pushed her fingers away. Steve had no doubt she'd get him out of his clothes at least that quickly but he was at a better angle and he hated his pants more at the moment than she did. Leaning back, she rolled her bottom back against him-- Oh God, this had to be sacrilegious but, GOD, thank you, God-- and he could finally feel her wetness and her heat all around his length. She soaked his fingers as he slid them between her folds to find her sweet spot, that bit of flesh he loved to stroke for her for all that he couldn't quite name without flushing bright red and drawing her laughter out. He wished he could hear her laugh right now. Nothing he'd seen so far was as gorgeous as Maria naked and happy. 

"I'll be fine," he repeated into her cheek. "I'll come back to you."

"Don't you dare," Maria hissed in response. "You come back from this suicide mission because you want to, Rogers. Don't you make me your reason to live." She reached between her legs to grasp him, her hand slick and cool. She put him in-- shoved him in, really but Steve didn't protest, couldn't protest because at the feel of her so soft and hot and clenching around him, he had to bite down on Maria's shoulder to muffle his groan. Even if his brain could string together words in a coherent manner, he'd tell her it wasn't like that, he didn't want her on a pedestal, never put her on one, but drinking coffee across from her with their toes brushing, her steady tone leading the bridge, arguing over which take-out to get for dinner-- those were his personal reasons for liking the twenty-first century, more intimate reasons than, say, medical advances, desegregation, and the persistence of the human drive to never ever give up in the face of tyranny. She wasn't his only reason to live but, hand to God, she brought colour back into living.

Steve cupped Maria's chin and kissed her. She grunted, craning her neck to press her lips more firmly against his. The cot swayed at precarious, floorward angles as their hips snapped against each other. Steve had no idea where the pillow went. Maria's arms and the back of her thighs pebbled with goosebumps. When she finally arched against him-- taut, shivering, slick-- he sipped at the dew salting the dips of her neck to muffle his grunts. She petted his hair, his sweat dripping down her forearms. She must have been whispering something to him because he felt her lips at his ear but all Steve could do was hold on to her as he came, hoping to God he'd return from this mission so he could warm her hands on coffee mugs, their bare feet barely touching.


End file.
